


Stan The Man Works Out The Kinks!

by runboyrun



Series: Stan My Man! [3]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aftercare, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Choking, Crying, Dom/sub, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Rimming, Shibari, Spanking, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-07 13:45:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13435998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runboyrun/pseuds/runboyrun
Summary: Christ, could sex get complicated. Stan had just been stuck on how to not always end up on his back, but the options were seemingly limitless. Gags, paddles, rope -Stan froze.Tucked away between fluorescent draping latex and thick straps of leather was a simple length of rope. Cotton cording, baby blue, unassuming; Stan felt his throat dry at the sight of it.Beverly and Eddie both paused once they noticed he’d stopped walking. In fact, Stan had stopped moving all together. Stan figured he should talk, move, maybe even breathe. But the looped fabric had punched the air out of his chest.





	Stan The Man Works Out The Kinks!

**Author's Note:**

> thank you punk-rock-yuppie for editing again you god amongst mortals

“Richie, c’mon j - _ah!_ Just fuck me!”

“You sure you’re ready, baby?”

“Pl - le _ase,_ fuck, hurry - ”

“Alright, Stan, alright.”

The grin across Richie’s face discredited his casual tone. The three fingers, all twisting in time with Stan’s heartbeat, firmly pressed one last time to his prostate and slipped away quickly at his choked squeak.

Stan felt his legs lift on instinct, already going around Richie’s waist as the taller boy leaned up and over him. He knew the drill by know, knew how to get ready for -

Stan’s toes curled as Richie slid in - choking on gasps at the unrelenting stretch and sudden feeling of being so fucking full. Richie settled his hips flush against Stan’s and waited for him to adjust, but the smaller boy was already jamming his heels into the small of Richie’s back to just get him to _move._

The push-pull of Richie inside him was so smooth there was nearly no friction - latex making the glide like water. Stan almost ached for something to shove, to slam, to _hurt._ Instead, he just moaned, fingers scrambling across the freckled back above him.

The pace quickened soon enough. Richie had a keen eye for when Stan was close - which was any time Richie so much as breathed on his dick. Stan tried to tighten his core, clench his legs, anything to keep from cumming so embarrassingly fast _again_ while Richie only had the slightest sheen across his chest.

But Richie wouldn’t have it, never would, as he leaned in to bite at Stan’s lobe.

“C’mon baby, be good and cum for me.”

“N-no, I - ”

Richie brushed his lips down the edge of Stan’s jaw, sucking lightly at the sensitive skin under his chin. “You don’t wanna be good for me?”

“I - ”

Before Stan could try to explain wanting to last just a _little_ longer, just let Richie go a little harder, Richie had grasped his dick and bit his neck just hard enough to sting.

Stan keened as he came between their stomachs, feeling Richie’s thrusts gentle inside of him, slowing down as he rode it out. Stan tried to keep his legs hooked, to keep Richie close, but they were already twitching too hard to lock them.

Despite Stan’s best efforts Richie pulled out, slid off the condom, and began to jack himself at a rapid pace. He sat back on his heels to have a clear view at the cum across Stan’s heaving abs, at his flushed face shining with sweat. Richie’s gazed darted along Stan’s body - his face, his stomach, his softening cock, with quick flicks of his eyes.

Stan heaved himself up, startling Richie enough to pause his lurching hips. Richie didn’t like it fast like that, he’d told Stan as much at the beginning. Richie liked _edging_ which Stan had googled and nearly thrown his phone into a wall when Mike had walked up beside him. Richie liked to tease himself and not cum in ten seconds like Stan always ended up doing.

Stan got his knees under himself, the quaking of his thighs leaving him unsteady and the twitch of his hole leaving him disoriented. But he persisted, and tipped forward until Richie’s dick was pointing right to his flushed lips.

Stan… hadn’t actually done this yet. And Richie’s size - girth, length, all of it -  was still intimidating on the best of days, especially this close to his face. Stan tried not to dwell on it, or the small bead of precum welling nearly against his lower lip, and dove in.

His descent to the dick was thwarted.

A big hand gripped along the scruff of his neck, pulling him up to Richie’s face. While the grip on his neck made his breath stutter all over again, Stan tried leaning back down to blow Richie regardless. The hold tightened, keeping him upright as Richie’s hand and hips sped up once more.

Stan had never heard of someone tugging a willing mouth _away_ from their dick. Yet here Richie was: defying expectations.

Richie huffed against Stan’s mouth, teeth grazing his lip as he said, “Can I kiss you?”

Stan smiled at the question, sweet despite their sweaty skin and heaving lungs. Stan kissed him softly, sucking on his lower lip as Richie groaned and came. He spilled across Stan’s stomach, mixing with the come already drying on his skin.

After their breathing leveled out Richie kissed Stan’s cheek and rubbed his nose against his cheekbone, while Stan rolled his eyes with a giggle .

In a moment Richie would pick Stan up and carry him to the bathroom. Stan would stand in the shower or sit on the counter depending on how sensitive he still was. Richie would wash him or wipe him down and they would go to Stan’s bed and cuddle until Stan passed out first.

That was their lives. Missionary, wipe, sleep, repeat. And that was okay.

Except for how it was _decidedly not okay._

Stan learned over the past month that he and Richie had very nice sex. Not that he had a frame of reference _beyond_ Richie but that hardly mattered when he either ended up in tears or shaking or both every time they fucked.

The sex was never rushed or unenthusiastic or any of the things the Losers had told him to be careful of; he never _dreaded_ or avoided sex with Richie.

It was just… the same. Every time.

Stan didn’t know Richie’s ‘sexual history’ - as Eddie called it - but he’d seen enough socks on the door before him to know there was practically a gouge in Richie’s bedpost from all the notches it held. Stan didn’t let that affect him, he was surprisingly good at not being jealous given how much he panicked in the build up to their relationship.

But Stan would bet an arm and also his entire body that Richie didn’t have loving missionary sex with the hookups he used to bring home.

\----------

“You just have to tell him that, Stan.” Eddie said, sipping his coffee.

Beverly and Eddie sat across from Stan at their weekly brunch. The ‘tradition’ was still too new to be considered anything remotely resembling a tradition but Beverly would always hush his and Eddie’s protests and cart them to the small cafe downtown.

 _“Finals are next week_ ,” Beverly had insisted. How could they _not_ treat themselves to a break from the chaos of the library and study guides?

It was, admittedly, a nice break from cafeteria food if nothing else. Switching out room temperature pizza for eggs benedict and coffee that didn’t have grounds in it certainly had its perks.

Stan sipped his macchiato slowly to avoid answering as long as socially acceptable. Eventually, he replies to Eddie. “I know that.”

“Well it’s never an issue that you _know_ you should say something.” Eddie snorted, and though the jab wasn’t necessarily meant to hurt Stan felt himself prickle regardless.

“Sure, because you’re the expert. How’s Bill been lately?”

Eddie’s spine snapped to attention, “He’s great. We’re great because we don’t drag other people into our _petty dramatic bullshit_.”

“Maybe you two wouldn’t _hear about it_ if you didn’t force me to tell you in the first place.”

“If we hadn’t you’d still be crying about your erections and Richie would be fucking literally _anybody_ else -”

“Stop.”

Beverly’s voice rang out like law across the table. She didn’t have to raise her voice, didn’t have to demand their attention. She knew the power she had on her boys.

Stan’s eyes flicked over to her, awaiting her sentence. He could feel the tears stinging behind his eyes but he’d be damned if he was going to cry over this. Eddie had said worse when mad, Eddie didn’t mean it, Eddie -

Beverly’s hand slid across the table to grip his own. The metal of her rings pressing against his palm as she stroked her thumb across his hand.

He looked to Eddie, who was now looking down at his french toast with a stiff lip reserved for not apologizing but feeling horrible. A glance back to Bev instructed him well enough, her smile was sweet, a touch of mirth to it as Stan gripped her back.

“You didn’t push me,” Stan started, “I went over to talk about it in the first place. And you’re right, if you hadn’t talked to me Richie and I would probably never have ended up together. I’m sorry.”

Eddie looked up and him, eyes big and vulnerable - like he used to get as a child. When he had less walls and was more open to love; when he was open to getting hurt, whether he meant to be or not. He smiled like it was a secret, eyebrows drawing together. “Yeah.”

That was as much as any of them were going to get. Eddie was always short on words when he was in the wrong but Stan knew how stilted he himself got and couldn’t even pretend to hold it against him.

“Alright,” Bev spoke again, waving her free hand for the check. She turned to look at Stan once again, and he felt a flash of deja vu at her motherly smile, “We’re going on a field trip.”

\----------

When one says ‘field trip’ the glowing neon storefront of _Sexvilla_ isn’t exactly what Stan thinks of. _The Treasure Chest,_ maybe, but Stan was a fool to think Miss Marsh would do anything half measure.

So here he stood, Eddie and Beverly flanking him, out front an… adult toy store and it was hardly noon. An elbow hooked under each arm and Stan felt himself propelled forward by Eddie and Bev through the tinted glass doors.

Stan was long past dragging his heels in the dirt about something like this. This semester alone had been such a mess, he just trailed in beside them, almost bored. It was just… _of course_ this was happening. Because Stan’s newfound lifestyle could be categorized somewhere between ‘Thirsty for Richie’ and ‘Complete Disaster of a Human Being.’

His confidence quickly faded upon running into a rotating stand of neon jockstraps. His hands shot out to try and stabilize the display, but that just landed him with a handful of mesh that - _how did this even cover a dick? Richie would never fit._

“Stan!”

Stan whipped around to see Beverly holding back near tears and Eddie ready to die. She finally gasped around giggles, “They need to see your ID, babe.”

Apparently Stan’s _Walk of Acceptance_ had marched him right past the front counter like a man on a mission. He also didn’t know he was even supposed to stop and the counter to get his ID checked because he was in a _fucking sex shop_ and what the _fuck_ was he doing here?

“Right, sorry.” Stan squeaked, fumbling for his wallet inside his backpack. The smooth black leather of the bag had seemed stylish, mature even, when he’d bought it. But in this environment, paired with his keds and chinos and cardigan: he felt like a schoolboy.

He handed over the card, and the bored girl at the counter scanned it over before passing it back across the glass display counter full of very questionable rings of metal. Stan reflexively opened his mouth to thank her, but stopped when he saw she’d already turned back to her phone. Instead, he faced  Eddie and Beverly again, where they waited at the opened curtains to the main display room of the shop.

It was just them and the dildos now.

And there were a _lot_ of dildos.

“What are we doing here?” Stan finally asked. His trust in Bev was unwavering, but his confusion had been mounting since they left the coffee shop and clambered onto the bus. Eddie had groaned at her bus route search of the address, and they wouldn’t let Stan see their destination.

Beverly turned back to him. “You wanna spice up your sex life.” Stan flushed at her echoing voice despite the empty aisles. “But you aren’t saying anything specific. You can’t _ask_ for what you want until you _know_ what you want.”

Eddie nodded along and poked Stan’s temple. “Richie isn’t a mindreader. But, he wants you to be happy so pick a kink and there is no doubt that he’s already heard about it and tried it. At least _twice_.”

 _So why isn’t he doing it with me?_ Stan wanted to demand, but bit his tongue and fiddled with the pins on his yarmulke instead.

The displays across the store floor ranged in size and intensity in ways that Stan wasn’t sure he could think about. The soles of his sneakers squeaked across the polished wood floor as he started to back away from all the _new new new._ Stan didn’t like new, especially in the form of a cock. Or a fist - Jesus, a _fist?_

Beverly’s fingers stroked across the collar of his shirt. “Pick out something you’d wanna try. Don’t think too hard about it.” Her grip squeezed for a moment, like a cat on their kitten’s scruff. “Go with your gut.”

Stan was birdboned at best; he didn’t _have_ a gut to guide him.

But he was here, surrounded by fleshlights and flavored lubricant. Might as well be brave.

With Bev’s hand still on his neck and Eddie’s fingers linking gently around his wrist, Stan was led deeper into the chaos.

The chaos up close didn’t feel nearly as overwhelming as Stan had feared. It almost bordered on comical, but that might have just been his slightly hysterical nerves after his stunt with the jockstraps. All the colors and functions and the puns in the porn section _alone_ had him near tears in what could only be delight.

Beverly had wandered away once she was sure Stan wasn’t going to bolt. “Investigative research.” She’d said with a wink, and taken off to a far corner with a familiarity to her steps. Eddie’s fingers were still loose around Stan’s wrist, but they tightened any time Stan so much shifted, as if he'd leave Eddie behind or try to break away from his grip.

They’d stopped in an aisle of bachelorette gag gifts, and Stan was pointing out a neon pink flogger with a penis shaped handle when he noticed Eddie hadn’t said a word since Beverly had walked away. He also dropped Stan’s wrist, letting Stan wander a few steps away without thinking. Now, Stan turned back and looked at his friend with a critical eye as his words trailed off, the sentence forgotten.

For all his raving about germs growing up, Eddie was nothing short of touch starved. All of his interactions as a kid equated comfort with consequence; a hand never got near him unless it was to scold or correct. Despite that, Eddie relished any and all chances of contact. So much so that if Eddie felt like he’d done wrong, he would cling like he was afraid they’d leave him in the dust for his ‘failure.’

Stan would never. None of the Losers ever would. But Eddie’s heart didn’t always seem to know that.

Stan looked at Eddie's tight shoulders. He'd apologized in that way that he did, but the guilt seemed to be choking him even now. That must’ve been why he had shrunk in on himself when Beverly stepped away. He was waiting for the berating Stan would never give. The punishment he didn’t need but felt he deserved.

Stan opened his mouth, but let it hang for a moment before shutting it once more. He didn’t have the tact to talk Eddie down from a mood like this. That was a talent found only in Bill or Mike. Bev could work in a pinch but she was nowhere to be seen.

Without a word, Stan slipped the cheap novelty flogger off the hook and whipped it down on Eddie's ass.

The jump and squawk almost broke him - but Stan kept his poker face firm. Eddie turned, incredulous, to demand an explanation. Stan could see the indignation trying to work out of his throat, but all that came out was a decidedly dramatic gasp.

"I'm your dad now. Also, you're grounded."

Eddie paused, blinked, and went as red as a tomato.

"How do you know about that?"

Stan blinked - a smile slowly spreading beneath his widening eyes.

"... You call Bill _D-_ "

Eddie chucked a bottle of bacon flavored lube at Stan's head. By the time Beverly roamed back over they were both crying in laughter.

“I leave you two alone for five minutes.” She sighed, but fell in step with her boys as they continued wandering the aisles. Their pace was lazy, no real purpose beyond seeing the next ‘toy’ in front of them as they snaked through each section.

Quiet explanation from Beverly or Eddie were all Stan heard under the soft shop music. Stan didn’t give any input beyond nods that he heard them. His focus was that which the Losers only saw from birdwatching and game night: concentration bordering on dissociation.

The theme of each aisle changed, adding more ‘spice’ to Stan’s sex vocabulary. Dildos, bullet vibes, furniture, fetish. _Christ_ , could sex get complicated. Stan had just been stuck on how to not _always_ end up on his back, but the options were seemingly limitless. Gags, paddles, rope -

Stan froze.

Tucked away between fluorescent draping latex and thick straps of leather was a simple length of rope. Cotton cording, baby blue, unassuming; Stan felt his throat dry at the sight of it.

Beverly and Eddie both paused once they noticed he’d stopped walking. In fact, Stan had stopped moving all together. Stan figured he should talk, move, maybe even breathe. But the looped fabric had punched the air out of his chest.

God, he’d imagined this before hadn’t he? Didn’t have the repertoire or internet history to put a name to it. But _bondage_ had been what got Stan off on his own. Bondage and Richie. Richie tying him up and just _using_ him -

Stan’s finger brushed the braided loops and he finally remembered how to fill his lungs. A shiver coursed through his spine as he felt how soft it was against his skin. So soft, but could pack such a bite if it was simply _tight_ enough.

The rope was pulled away from his nervous touch and Stan nearly gave himself whiplash trying to follow it. He found it in the hands of one Beverly Marsh, who had a glint in her eyes that always meant she knew more than he did. Though, Stan had a feeling they were on the same page in this matter.

She turned on her heel, and began a nearly bouncy walk back to the register. Oh God, she was going to buy it. She was going to exchange money for goods that were meant to provide _very specific_ services. Stan trailed slightly behind, silently thanking her for facing the humiliation he would no doubt bring upon himself trying to purchase fetish gear.

Stan had just planned to grab the ‘pack of white socks’ equivalent of a sex toy just to let the matter drop. Some plain, tame little thing that could just be a confidence booster not a fucking dungeon prop.

Eddie looked at Stan’s growing dismay and snorted, wrapping a hand around his wrist once more as he guided him away from the purchase, straight to the exit, and over to the bus stop.

“I should’ve known you were a freak, Stan.” Eddie snipped, but his poked tongue and toothy grin just made Stan groan.

Beverly came out a few moments later with an opaque black bag that didn’t feel any more discreet than it looked. Stan clutched the wrinkling plastic, for once not focused on the kinks of the wrapping. Heh, kinks. He was losing it on public transport, maybe he did belong in the city after all.

Eddie looked over at Stan’s pink cheeks and white knuckle grip and inhaled as dramatically as his lungs could muster. “Put it in your bag, Stanley. Jesus.”

Stan jumped at the muttered outburst. He looked at Eddie’s cheeky grin and then over to Beverly’s raised brow. He clutched the bag tighter.

Yeah, maybe he should put away. The blinking neon sign in front of the bus stop left nothing to the imagination on where they’d been just as much as the shopping bag. But every time he shifted his grip to unzip his backpack he just… felt the rope under his fingers. The fiber’s texture was  diluted through the packaging; but Stan _knew_ it was there. If he put it in his bag now, he might never take it back out.

\----------

When Stan stumbled off of the bus, Beverly took one look at his off kilter sway and pulled him in the opposite direction of his dorm. Stan felt he’d really had enough for today, but the redhead was insistent - keeping an arm under her own as the trio eventually made it to her own room.

Bev had a single, which Bill would argue made her the logical sense for parties - a fact he bemoaned every time they trashed his and Eddie’s room. She never allowed it though, always pointing out that the RA, Greta, would bust them all in a heartbeat. She had it out for Bev, and was known to be merciless on the best of days.

Stan plopped onto her bed, still clutching the bag between his fingers as he flicked his thumbnail along the plastic. Eddie and Beverly sat on either side of him. Eddie’s arm was a solid line on his right and Bev’s cheek a soft warmth on his shoulder. He let his head rest against her without thinking about it. Bev had that effect with her boys: never had to overthink when she was in charge.

The three didn’t move for awhile, just sat together, enjoying each other’s presence. Stan, despite how much he’d deny it, was the fragile one of the club. He wasn’t weak, no one would ever say that - Bill had once punched someone that tried; that had been an eventful party - but they would say he’d drain quickly. He didn’t bend as well to situations, more of a tendency to break, and just needed time to just sit and be _still_.

That probably explained the draw to the rope now that he thought about it.

But he didn’t think too hard. Not with the comforting warmth of his Losers against him. Not even when he felt Beverly’s calloused fingers gentle his grip off of the bag, pulling the rope out of the packaging and into the soft filtered daylight of her bedroom.

“It’s cute.” She finally said, tapping the rope against his chest with a breathy laugh.

It did look a little cute, Stan admitted. It looked innocuous, almost _innocent_ , dangling softly between Bev’s relaxed fingers. God, she was so confident. So sure of herself. Stan nearly choked from colorful underwear and she probably wouldn’t blink at a piss kink. Oh God, that probably _was_ a kink.

“Cute as you,” Beverly continued, cutting off whatever hell that train of thought would lead to. “Baby blue for our baby boy.”

Stan felt his cheek heat against her fiery hair, and scowled as he grunted his disagreement. He didn’t move off of her though, too comfortable in their bubble.

Eddie laughed. “Oh, come on, Stan.” He rested his own chin against Stan’s other shoulder, and Stan turned his neck just enough to look down his nose at the smaller boy. Stan pursed his lips, and blew a raspberry for good measure.

That just made Beverly laugh with him, “Not a baby at all.” She drawled.

“You gotta loosen up, we’ll...” Eddie’s voice dropped low and gravely, and he moved his eyebrows in an eerily accurate impression of Richie. “Show you the ropes.”

Stan inhaled sharply. “Really?”

The word had slipped past his teeth before he had a chance to think better of it. Eddie’s waggled brows were practically in his hairline as he gaped at Stan. He felt Beverly move off his shoulder to look at him properly. Oh shit, oh _shit._

There was no way he could pretend that was a joke. It hadn’t carried his flat tone or any trace of dry humor. It had been small, fragile, begging.

He needed to get out of here.

“Stan - ”

Stan didn’t want to hear it. Shit, what the fuck was that? Who said that? Stan pushed himself out of the comfort of the huddle and off of the bed. Thank God he hadn’t taken his shoes off, nothing to delay his retreat.

He just -  Bev had seemed so confident holding the rope. Assured in what to do with it where Stan could hardly look at it. He just thought - fuck, it didn’t matter.

Beverly grabbed his forearm before he could get a hand on the door. He curled in on himself the moment she touched him, trying to be smaller under her steady gaze.

But she’d moved in close and all he did was curl around _her_ instead. He wasn’t tall, but she barely reached his chin. His head rested against her own as she held his cheek in one palm while the other still - Christ, she was still holding the rope.

She pressed against his cheek until he looked at her, and a soft little smile graced her red lips once he met her eyes.

“Stanley,” She began, and God, she was busting out full names. “It’s okay to be scared.”

“I’m not - ”

“Don’t lie to me.” She said simply.

Eddie waited, still on the bed, but Stan could see him leaning in to listen to the quiet exchange.

“I don’t want you to ever be scared of sex.” Beverly stroked along his cheek, and he felt his hand reach up to cup over her own. “And I know, from a _few_ too many shots,” She giggled with a wink, “That you like to be good.”

Stan felt his cheeks heat again under their palms. Maybe one day he’d learn to keep his face in check.

“And I’m sure you’re good, the best even.” Stan whined in embarrassment; did she have to pull out dirty laundry like that? “But,” Her face set into something less recognizable. “You don’t have to do everything to be good. Especially things that scare you. That doesn’t make you bad.”

Stan bristled, “Richie would _never_ force - ”

“I know,” Beverly cut in, “I know that. But _he_ may not know if it’s too far. If you tell him it’s okay when it’s not. If you lie to try and be good for him.”

Stan looked away.

“See? I don’t want that to happen to you. You don’t deserve that and neither does Richie.” She kisses his nose, and Stan feels warm in a way that makes him almost want to cry.

She held him for awhile longer, his neck cricked in a way that’s sure to ache later to just be closer to their home, their Bev. She finally inhaled, almost sounding nervous, but Stan thought he knew what was coming next.

“You can try it here.” She said, voice more confident than Stan thought he could ever feel. “Bondage can be scary. You can’t move, you’re vulnerable, and I don’t want you to put that element into sex unless you feel ready.”

Eddie sat up higher on the bed and Stan looked over to him. “Yeah, it doesn’t have to be weird. You know we just want you to feel safe.”

Stan giggled a bit, fingers flexing against Beverly’s hand as he tried to break the tension mounting in his gut. “Geez, guys. I have a boyfriend, you know?”

Beverly and Eddie both smiled as he was tugged gently to the bed. A loose grip on the hand that had been over her own. It barely touched him, leaving an open invite to the door.

“Just friends helping friends.” Bev said, winking as she sat Stan on the comforter between them once more.

Stan chuckled despite himself, “Y’know, Richie said something just like that -”

Beverly laughed, “Don’t be a brat, Uris. This is a clothes on affair.”

“The most forbidden love;” Stan said, expressionless. “Platonic.”

“Oh my God.” Eddie groaned, slapping Stan on the arm.

They all sat, a mirror of their silence before. Stan didn’t know what the protocol here was - how does one get tied up by two of their friends so they can do it with their boyfriend later?

Thankfully, Beverly started to move, always the one in charge - gave Big Bill a run for his money - and turned Stan and herself until they were facing each other on the bed. Eddie turned quickly as well, looking over Stan’s shoulder to await instructions. Beverly began to unloop the rope as Stan tried to keep breathing.

God, this _was_ scary. This was scary and he was with two of the people he trusted most who had no expectations of how this was going to go. How the hell would he have done this naked?

His finger went to his brow to scratch on instinct, but Eddie got there first and held his hand against his chest instead. Beverly smiled at the smaller boy in gratitude with her hands still full. Stan began to pick at the threads of his shirt instead, the cotton stitching catching under his nail as he watched the corded blue become longer and longer.

Stan tensed under Eddie, pulling at the threads harder.

“W-wait.” He stammered, barely a whisper but both Eddie and Beverly froze immediately.

“What’s wrong?” Beverly immediately asked, setting the rope aside. “We can stop, it’s okay, you did - ”

“No,” Stan shook his head, “No, I just…” His shirt - it seemed so childish, but… he didn’t want to crease his shirt. The rope would leave wrinkles or he would sweat in it and leave stains and he didn’t know if he could handle feeling dirty with something that was already this unsettling.

But the words wouldn’t come out, felt too silly in this environment - made him feel like a baby. Instead he looked down at the shirt; crinkling already under his ministrations, once neat stripes now crooked diagonals down his chest. He tugged at it again, and hoped they’d understand.

“Oh,” Eddie started, “Your - shit, got it. Bev?” Trust Eddie to understand, nearly as nitpicky as Stan himself. “Could you grab a shirt? Or, I’ll get it. Hang on.”

Before Eddie got up he tugged Stan’s gripped hand away from his chest and into Beverly’s waiting one. She pressed it back to its position across his chest once more, smiling at him as Eddie went over to her dresser.

“Second drawer,” She called, not looking away from Stan. “Grab the red one.”

“Sorry…” Stan mumbled, cheeks pinking.

“Shush.” Beverly said, dipping her head to catch his lowering eyes. “Don’t be silly.”

Eddie came back to the bed in a blur, hopping up onto the mattress and taking Stan’s wrist once more. Stan almost laughed at it, except for how it was melting his heart. They didn’t want to ever not be touching him, thinking he would go for his brow or crawl into his own head to hide with his thoughts. They were grounding him, keeping him here with them.

Beverly swiftly unbuttoned his shirt, Eddie only releasing his wrist for her to pull the garment down his arms, and then tugged the tee over his head. His curls popped through the hole, framing his face haphazardly. Beverly pulled one arm through a sleeve while Eddie did the other.

Stan looked down to see an oversized Star Wars shirt, it was huge on him, dipping on one shoulder. The once red dye had faded to a washed out pink, the image of Vader nearly gone from the chest. It must’ve been Ben’s at one point.

Stan quirked a brow at the two hands still holding his own. “Despite popular belief,”  He drawled, “I do actually know how to put a shirt on.”

Eddie pinched one wrist as Bev released her own grip to fold his shirt. She did it with a deliberacy that he doubted she held for her own clothes; it made me feel warm all over again.

“We know that,” Eddie said, “But that isn’t the point.”

“You don’t need to think, not right now.” Beverly continued, “You just have to feel and let us take care of you. I always take care of my boys.”

“Got it?” Eddie asked. But Stan guessed by Bev’s smile that Eddie’s face went as pink as his own at that last comment.

Stan nodded.

“Words, sweetie.”

“Got it.” Stan mumbled, eyes falling back to the rope that Beverly was now holding once more.

Beverly moved the rope in her grip efficiently, and Stan felt his lips part as how it glided through her grip as she made it lay in two pieces at the middle of the cord.

“I’m gonna need some help from my lovely assistant.” Bev said, grinning at Eddie over his shoulder.

Eddie snorted, “Bite me, Marsh.” But took the looped end offered and pulled Stan’s hand back with him.

Beverly looked to Stan.  She paused as his other arm went back to meet Eddie without prompt, wrists crossed behind him as he bit his lip.

“Oh, you’re _such_ a good boy.” Beverly cooed, and hooked her chin over his shoulder to look down his already shaking back as she instructed Eddie.

Stan shuddered a breath against her neck and sighed as her nails came up to scratch along his nape. He wasn’t paying too much attention to their words, but flinched as the first loop was tightened across his crossed wrists.

Beverly’s hand paused on his neck. “Stanley?”

Stan whined lightly, nodding into her neck quickly and hiding his face further when her hand started up again.

Stan felt the rope loop one, two, three times around his wrists before Eddie’s fingers slid up along his back and paused on Beverly’s command. Beverly leaned away from his shoulder to face him once more and Stan felt a high whine leave his throat as she dislodged him from her neck.

Stan tried to lean into her again, to hide, but her fingers tightened in his curls and held him still for them.

“Be good.” Was all she said. But it was enough for his eyes to meet hers as he leaned back into her grip, to look for her approval.

She smiled and leaned in, forehead resting against his own, as she took the rope from Eddie to cross over his arms and chest. Eddie looped it back through the point he’d held. She took the rope back, gave Stan a wicked smile, and _tugged._

_Oh._

Stan felt his arms pulled up as the cords constricted around his chest. With one move Bev had taken his mobility, had made him helpless, open. He panted as Beverly continued, crossing the rope once more with a check to their restriction before guiding Eddie through the knot against Stan’s spine.

God, they were so tight. Digging in along the flesh of his reedy biceps and heaving chest. He tugged his wrists in the unyielding loops and found he could hardly move an inch. It felt so - so good. Every slide of the rope around him as it wrapped under his arms and over his stomach and around his chest left him hazy. His head lolled down against Beverly to see the baby blue cord taut against the pink shirt when -

Christ, he was hard.

The chinos were tight against him and he whined at the sight. God, this wasn’t supposed to - it just felt so good. He didn’t even realize he was hard until he saw it and even then it felt like an afterthought.

Beverly saw his gaze and heard the keen of dismay. She didn’t look down, didn’t need to, before she cupped Stan’s face back to her gaze. Stan felt the rope dig into his cheek and tried to keep his eyelids from drooping as she spoke to him.

“Don’t worry about that.”

“I’m sor - ”

“Shh, just be here with us. Just feel. You’re doing so well.” She cooed as he whined against her palm.

And with that comment Stan felt his eyes droop. Eddie continued the tie as she stroked Stan’s curls, brushing them away from his flushed face. By the end Stan felt a little like a trussed up turkey but a lot like he was floating.

Beverly spoke to him, but the words just felt far away. Everything was so warm and he’d never felt so soft in his life. He didn’t need to worry about a thing, not with Beverly and Eddie’s hands holding him steady.

Beverly’s chin hooked back over his shoulder and he slumped into her like a ragdoll. The rope felt so nice. No one had said it would feel this nice - this safe.

Eddie tugged the last knot secure, and Stan moaned lightly into Beverly’s neck as she pet his neck.

“Oh sweetie, you’re made for this.”

Stan doesn’t think to do anything but nod at that and smiles at her responding giggle. Eddie’s hands come up to rub his arms and shoulders and Stan just floats along.

“Is it too tight?” Eddie finally asked in a hushed tone, leaning in close to Stan’s ear. “Your wrists are really high.” Stan’s grateful, he didn’t think he could handle anything above a murmur in this raw state.

He hummed a negative, flexing lightly in the binds, and Beverly kissed his cheek.

Eddie held one of Stan’s hands, rubbing his palms and fingertips for something that probably had to do with blood flow but Stan couldn’t be bothered. “The fact that you’ve only done missionary is a crime.” Eddie said.

“Uh huh.” Stan sighed, and giggled along with them at the sleepy tone.

They let him rest between them, running their hands along his face and through his hair. He knew the rope itself was sexual, shit - that had been the whole point of the purchase, but to sit here with them felt like nothing short of love. Just being held and letting himself be taken care of. It was like an ache in his bones had been settled, the vibrations of his mind finally ceasing and just letting him be.

Eventually he felt the ties loosen, and his responding whine was shushed as they folded and massaged his arms. Beverly recoiled the rope while Eddie scratched his scalp until he felt a little more like a person again. They both praised him, telling him how well he’d done, how good he was for them, and his cheeks darkened once he was cognisant enough to acknowledge the words.

The rope was looped and put into his backpack and Eddie tugged the tee off of him to situate his button up once more. He felt a little like a child, but beyond some weak protests he didn’t have the heart to stop them. He felt… spacey.

“Is this normal?” He finally blurted, Beverly looked up from his buttons with a quirked brow.

“Is what normal, babe?” She asked, frowning as he dropped his head.

“This. All - ” He gestured to himself, or tried to - his arms still felt like jelly. “Am I normal?”

His voice cracked out despite his best efforts and Stan felt his lower lip quiver at the two sets of hands immediately holding him again.

“Of course you are.” Eddie said. “This is all normal, there’s nothing wrong.”

“But - ”

“But, what?” Beverly asked.

Stan tried to wave his arms again. To emphasize his heavy limbs and flushed cheeks and parted lips and how _lost_ he’d been from just some braided thread. Eddie clasped Stan’s arms back against his chest, smaller hands fanning across his own as he pressed his palms flat to his ribs. Beverly’s hands found their place back in the nape of his curls. She didn’t force his head up like she’d done before, content to just hold him as he shook.

“No, no, sweetie.” She whispered, lips brushing his forehead as she spoke. “You were so brave for us, did so well. Did you like it?”

Stan bit his lip and nodded.

Eddie pulled him back until he was resting against the smaller boy’s chest. “Then what’s wrong?” He asked, “If you had fun and everyone was okay with it, there’s nothing wrong with you, okay?”

Stan tried to think of a retort, an explanation of why this was okay for anyone _but_ him. That he didn’t deserve this quiet in his head if he’d craved it for so long without realizing it.

He sank further into Eddie and pressed his head against Beverly instead. Reliant on their touch to assure him that his thoughts were wrong.

 _"Okay_?” Eddie pressed, voice uncharacteristically quiet.

“Yeah.” Stan murmured, he felt Beverly smile against his skin.

“Good boy.”

\----------

Richie worked late tonight; his set at the school’s radio station and the walk back to their dorm usually landed him in bed with Stan no earlier than midnight. Which was fine with Stan. He needed the time to mentally prepare.

He tuned into the station for Richie’s hour segment, the laughter and jokes filling the room as Stan showered and brushed his teeth twice. The rope was under Richie’s bed - it did end up being the _sex bed,_ a fact that amused the taller boy to no end.

He’d changed out of his clothes despite having saved them from the rope the first time around. Instead, he wore one of Richie’s flannels and briefs: blue with little birds on them. Richie had gotten them for him as a gag gift but he’d seen how his jaw dropped when Stan put them on.

Stan sat on the bed with his knees tucked under him, back straight, and fingers clenched. He couldn’t help but notice the posture being the complete opposite of him under the rope. But, he could have that again soon - and throw in some orgasms too. Yeah. It’ll be alright.

Richie stumbled into the room, throwing his jacket haphazardly across his desk chair and toeing off his boots. Stan would’ve scolded him, and would inevitably pick them up himself later, but the words dried in his throat at the tight, _tight_ shirt stretched across his shoulder blades as he gave up and tugged on the laces.

It was a Derry High shirt, AV Club, from before his growth spurt. The shirt was practically painted on and the hand designed microphone logo shouldn’t have looked so hot stretched across his chest - but Stan never claimed to have anything less than crush goggles for the beanstalk of a boy.

Richie looked up at him, mouth opening around a smile to greet him, noticing that his show must’ve been on a moment ago from the still tuned in laptop.

“Let’s fuck.” Stan squeaked, cheeks reddening at Richie’s wide eyes.

“ _Shit._ Okay, dude.”

“Don’t ‘dude’ me.” Stan scoffed, but laughed into Richie’s mouth as he jumped on him.

_I can do this I can do this Icandothis_

The mantra buzzed in Stan’s skull as Richie pulled his curls to suck on his neck. Stan keened, hips spasming up into Richie’s own as his legs were spread to accommodate him. The rope was right under him, waiting to hold him down all over again. Waiting to make him Richie’s.

Shit.

He could do this.

Stan began to turn on the bed, chest to the mattress, as he started to reach for the bundle. His fingers just brushed the fibers as his shoulder was caught and he was pushed flat on his back once more.

“Richie - ” Stan moaned.

“Change your mind?” Richie asks with a grin, but Stan could see the honesty of it.

“No - ”

Stan tried once more to turn but barely getting an inch of the mattress before Richie plastered himself across Stan. Their chests and hips flush as Richie tugged his hair making Stan squeak.

“Just like this, baby,” Stan felt his knees go weak at the pet name. “So pretty, Christ.”

This was enough for Richie. Stan on his back and sweet kisses and slow thrusts. God, what if he’d seen the rope? Stan just pulling that shit out on him, what a freak.

Fuck, Bev and Eddie were wrong - Stan was a _freak_. Richie didn’t want to do shit like that with him. Eddie had said it himself; Richie had done it all.

But he didn’t want to do any of it with Stan.

Stan curled his legs around Richie, clinging to him like a leech as his briefs were tugged down. Breath shuddering against his neck as he tried to avoid his own thoughts.

He gasped at the first finger, but it came out more like a sob. Richie paused above him and _shit_ he needed to get it together. He couldn’t lose what little Richie was willing to give him too.

“Stan?” Richie asked, free hand stroking his ribs. “Are you sure?”

“Y-yes.” Stan choked.

But he felt Richie start to pull away, and he whined as he clung impossibly tighter.

“Baby, please - ”

“Bad day.” Stan stammered, “I had a bad day, _please,_ just - please.”

He wasn’t lying, not anymore. It had felt like a good day until a moment ago. Had felt freeing and liberating until his doubts tightened like a noose around him.

Richie didn’t say another word, didn’t question him further. He knew Stan didn’t like to be questioned, knew he didn’t like to be poked and prodded at. And Stan couldn’t fault him for not digging deeper, not cracking the confession out of him even though Stan desperately wanted him to.

Richie was nothing if not a wonderful boyfriend.

He was wonderful as he held him, opening him slowly and kissing his ruddy cheeks.

He was wonderful as he slid into him so gently, long slow thrusts as he jacked Stan.

He was wonderful as he cooed in his ear as Stan arched with tears in his eyes.

Stan came. But he felt smaller than he had in awhile.

\----------

Stan could feel himself beginning to close off. He missed Loser’s Dinner for the first time since they’d arrived at college. Richie had been worried, spooned him and twirled his curls as he offered to stay behind with him. Stan had hid his face further in the blankets and said he was fine.

That’s all Stan could be now: fine.

His finals were a blur; he couldn’t even find it in himself to be stressed. And _that_ alone seemed to stress out Richie in turn. When Stan went internal Richie panicked, always had.

So when Richie had suggested going to grab a drink at Bill and Eddie’s with the most hesitant tone Stan was helpless to say anything but yes.

He dressed without paying too much attention, moving in a haze as he zipped his jeans and buttoned his checked shirt. Richie had a meeting at the station so Stan would have to make the trudge to House Kaspbrough himself.

He wondered how much Richie expected to not find Stan there when he showed up. For him to have stayed behind and hiding in his bed.

Stan stared at his bed, fingers itching to untie his shoes and let himself sink into his sheets. His phone buzzed, Miss Marsh and a photo of Bev at the Derry County Fair flashing onto his screen. He answered without a word.

“Get over here, Stanley.”

She hung up before he could respond. His phone buzzed again.

_I mean it. Now._

Stan sighed, pocketing his phone, and walked out the door.

When he arrived at the dorm the only one there was Beverly. It wasn’t uncommon for them to be in each other’s rooms without the original resident there, but Stan had a feeling this was calculated.

Beverly was still setting up a makeshift bar on Bill’s desk. Stan didn’t feel like a drink, or he felt like downing ten; he wasn’t sure yet. He didn’t say anything to her, she knew he was here. Instead he fiddled with the pencils on Eddie’s desk. Laying them so the erasers were even and then pushing them back together to start over and over and over -

“Stan.” He paused, fingers twitching to fix the pencils once more but freezing at her firm, warm tone.

“Yes?”

“What happened?” Beverly was beside him now, not touching him - not yet. If he was fidgeting he didn’t like to be touched without warning. She knew her boys well. She let her hand hover just before his arm and didn’t grip until he pressed into it himself.

“Nothing happened.” Stan mumbled, letting his fingers loop around themselves over and over as Beverly weighed the vague explanation.

“Did you change your mind?” She asked.

Stan snorted despite himself, “Why do you assume it was me that said no?”

“Richie would never say no to you, especially not with an offer that tempting.”

Stan’s mouth twisted, and Beverly gripped his arm tighter. “You’re right. I bailed.”

“That’s okay, Stan - ”

“It’s not though,” He continued, not looking at her. “It’s not okay. _I’m_ not okay. I’m - I’m this _freak_ who wants weird shit and he clearly doesn’t want to do _any_ of it and - ”

“Okay, I’m gonna have to stop you there.” Beverly cut in, her short stature letting her catch his lowered gaze easily. “First of all, bondage isn’t weird. That’s practically Kink for Beginners, and anyone could tell you that. You weren’t asking him to pee on you, c’mon.”

Stan wheezed at that, a little on the mark Miss Marsh. “And second, he would’ve said yes.” Stan opened his mouth, “Be quiet, Stan. I’m talking and you’re listening.”

Stan’s jaw clicked shut.

“Good. He would’ve said yes. I promise. And even if he _didn’t_ he wouldn’t have laughed at you or mocked you or whatever else your head is convincing you of.”

Her hands held his cheeks, like he was as fragile as he felt. “He wouldn’t leave you, babe.”

“Bev…”

“You two are oblivious and dumb and made for each other. It would be nauseating if I weren’t so invested.”

Stan felt his throat tighten, trying to swallow around the lump he didn’t invite. She smiled at him, bright as fire, and pulled him down to hug properly. He let himself slump into her.

“I don’t know what to do.” He confessed into her shoulder.

She pressed her nose in his curls. “You gotta be confident. Just have to say it. Just put it out there.”

“Yeah, see… you _say_ that.” Stan joked, but it came out a little more watery than he’d liked.

“I know it’s scary. Just have a drink and let yourself have fun tonight. And who knows,” She winked, “Vodka tends to give you courage you never thought you had.”

Stan groaned a laugh as he held fast.

The door opened a moment later and Eddie and Bill slipped back in. Their cautious faces said enough; Miss Marsh was a mastermind.

Stan slid himself from her grip as Bill handed him a drink. He didn’t bother to look at it before taking a gulp and coughing at the burn. Vodka gave him courage, after all.

The party was in as full of a swing as a party of six could be when Richie arrived.

“What’s up, motherfuckers?!” Echoed through the cramped dorm as he kicked open the door. Everyone yelled in greeting, arms up, welcoming the last link of their circle.

Even Stanley had shouted, uncaring of modesty in this trusted and booze-warmed environment. Richie saw the toothy grin across his boy’s face and smiled a sweet soft thing that made Stan’s heart as warm as his cheeks.

Stan held his arms out and flexed his fingers expectantly until Richie dove over and swung him into the air. Stan shrieked and giggled as he wrapped his legs tight around Richie’s waist.

Richie kissed his cheek and Stan caught a mumble of, “What’d you give him, Marsh?” But he couldn’t be bothered to care.

Beverly was beside them, when had she gotten there? She pinched Stan’s cheek and he scrunched his nose in retribution.

“Don’t worry about it, Tozier.” She winked, and turned to talk to a happily chatting Ben and Mike.

Richie didn’t put Stan down, and Stan sipped his drink from his perch at his waist. Perched like a bird, he giggled, Stan the Bird Man.

“My sweet bird.” Richie laughed, and kissed his cheek once more.

Richie sat on the bed, Stan comfortably tucked in his lap with his head resting on Richie’s shoulder. Richie was so warm, almost as warm as his gut from the booze. Christ, it was hot.

“Can I?” Richie asked.

Stan blinked, eyes focusing properly on the taller boy inches from his face. Richie’s fingers tapped against his buttons.

“You’re hot, baby,” Richie cheesed. “I mean, you’re always _hot_ but you can let go a bit. Loosen up.”

Stan bit his lip and nodded. Richie began to swiftly undo the top two buttons, untucking his shirt as well. Stan sighed at the cool air against his skin.

Stan smiled back at him, Richie was so smart. He _did_ need to let go, he just had to get it out there. Bev said so. Just _say it._

“God, she’s been pouring you heavy. Tell me what?”

Stan felt his ears pink - shit, okay. Confidence. _Confidence._

He inhaled, mouth dropping.

Bill sat up suddenly. “Let’s p-play Never H-Have I Ever.”

“God, you’re such a fuckboy.” Eddie laughed.

“Yeah.” Bill agreed easily. “B-b-but I f-fuck you, boy.”

Eddie groaned the loudest in response but kissed him with a smile regardless.

Richie’s head whipped over to the two, brow furrowing at the lost moment, but agreed easily enough at Bill’s drawn out whine and Stan’s laugh.

They were cute together, Stan thought. Eddie needed someone to keep him calm and Bill needed someone who could stand by him. Plus, Eddie got a bunch of hoodies and snapbacks to steal - Bill never seemed to mind.

The Losers huddled into a circle, forming a point starting at Richie once Stan refused to move. Drinks were refilled, but when Mike tried to hand Richie his own he declined.

“Not tonight, Mikey boy! I gotta figure something out first.” He looked to Stan and smirked. “Why don’t you drink for both of us tonight, baby?”

Stan stared back, and a tension built between their gazes that could be cut with a knife. Thank God they were chest to chest; Stan could feel his cock twitch.

“What? You pregnant?” Eddie asked, snorting at the two of them.

“Oh Eddie, _dear_ , what will our parents think?” Richie broke their gaze to start up an egregious Southern drawl, fanning his face as he fluttered his lashes. “Running off with some beau? I couldn’t help it, Edward! He just gives me the _vapors!”_ He cackled the last bit. Unable to keep the character up as he kissed Stan’s cheek with an obnoxious wet smack.

“Okay, okay!” Ben laughed, cheeks red with whiskey and joy. “Let’s start. Who’s first?”

“Y-you spoke up, t-take the honors.” Bill said, shouldering him with a grin.

“Ah, shit, okay. Uh… Never have I ever… Jumped off the quarry cliff naked.”

Beverly, Mike, and Bill all drank. Richie tapped Stan’s cup with a laugh, “Go on.” He snickered.

Stan took a sip, smiling around the cup. He and Richie had both done that, so he took a second quick one.

The game moved quickly - Ben, Bev, Eddie, Richie, Stan, Mike, Bill - around and around.

“Never have I ever listened to New Kids on the Block.”

“Never have I ever streaked… in daylight, specifically.”

“Never have I ever had a threesome. Wh - _Mike?!”_

Stan waited patiently for every tap from Richie to his mug, and shit, he tapped a lot. Streaking, vandalism, spanking (Eddie was _such_ a liar), tattoo - the list never seemed to stop growing. Stan’s swallows became sips purely as a self preservation tactic.

Heh, swallows. Stan knew something he’d rather be swallowing.

Ben sputtered on his own sip from the floor, apparently he had a tattoo as well, and gaped at the two of them. Richie’s mouth was also dropped.

He leaned in close to Stan’s ear. “Somethin’ you wanna say, babe?”

Stan hiccuped a bit. “ _Nope_.”

Richie leaned back to catch his stare, magnified eyes squinted as he sized Stan up. Neither paid attention through the next turn.

Beverly and Eddie shared a long look, Stan saw it as he turned away from Richie at the redhead loudly clearing her throat. She stared at him as she spoke.

“Never have I ever been escorted to a sex shop.”

Richie started to laugh, thinking it was a break in the tension, but the chuckle died in his throat at Stan taking a drink without prompt. Stan turned back to look at Richie.

There was a brief, heavy silence before Eddie spoke.

“Never have I wanted to be tied up.”

No one moved. Everyone’s eyes were on Richie who’s eyes were on Stan. Stan lifted the cup.

Richie’s hands gripped on Stan’s waist. Stan felt his cheeks flush as he downed the rest of his drink, not breaking eye contact with Richie to even blink.

Richie swallowed, nodded, and stood - hefting Stan up with him.

“Thank you for your hospitality. We need to leave immediately.”

Stan jammed his nose into Richie’s collar as he stepped over their cheering and whistling friends. But, he looked up just enough from his hideout to peek Beverly giving him the warmest smile and wink. Stan smiled back.

The door shut inches from his face. Richie holding his thighs tighter as Stan squeezed his legs around his waist. Richie paused only to shift Stan more onto his hip, and then began a steady pace back to their room.

Richie’s palms spanned the width of his thighs as they waited in the elevator. Thumbs stroking as he rubbed his cheek against Stan’s hidden face.

Stan had said it. Well… he hadn’t _said_ anything. But he’d done enough. He felt himself squirm as he thought about it. God, he was so dramatic.

“You’re so brave, baby.” Stan whimpered before he could think to bite it back. “That was so good, so good of you.”

“Richie…” he mumbled as the brisk air outside began to sober him up.

“Shh, I’m so proud of you and once we’re not in public and outdoors I will show you just how much.”

Stan didn’t know what exactly _just how much_ meant until he was on his bed and Richie began to undress him. There wasn’t a motive to it beyond simply putting Stan in a sleep shirt and new shorts. He kissed all over each inch of skin that he exposed, but Stan didn’t even find it arousing. It was more unrivaled adoration than anything.

Once he’d gentled Stan onto his back and slipped him beneath his sheets, Richie quickly changed himself and laid next to him. Not on top of him or behind him - just beside him. Allowing Stan to curl against him out of his own volition.

Stan did, almost immediately, and laid half on top of the taller boy. His head beneath Richie’s chin and hands soft against his chest. Richie kissed his crown and let his palms spread without grip across Stan’s back. Just holding him; breathing each other’s air.

“Is this why you cried the other night?” Richie asked, voice barely a ghosting across Stan’s curls.

Stan just nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I…” Stan didn’t hesitate, but chose his words with care. “I didn’t want you to think I was gross. I was scared.”

“Of me?”

“No. Never of you.”

Richie pressed his nose into his kinked halo of hair, Stan pressed his own into Richie’s throat. He could feel his pulse against his cheek.

“Did they really drag you to a sex shop?” Richie asked, a soft laugh in his voice at Stan’s responding groan.

“I ran into a display of jockstraps, dick sleeves right to the face.”

Richie laughed a little brighter. “You never cease to amaze.”

“You have very low standards.” Stan grumbled around a smile.

“Nah. I just know the best boy.”

“... We tried it.” Stan mumbled into his skin. “Eddie and Bev and I. I was worried I’d freak out and they tied me up to make sure I would be okay.”

Richie’s fingers tightened a fraction against his back, but Stan inhaled sharply at it.

“Is that okay?”

“God, that must’ve been pretty.” Richie moaned. “Bet you were so good for them. Of course Bev had rope.”

Stan tucked his nose further. “It was my rope.”

“Yours?”

“It’s under your bed.”

“Oh my _God,”_ Richie squeezed Stan once more. “I bet it’s blue.”

Stan’s silence was answer enough. He still slapped Richie for laughing.

They settled again after that. Stan could feel himself drifting away in the taller boys arms. His eyes could hardly stay open between the booze and comfort.

“Are you gonna regret telling me this in the morning?” Richie asked. His voice was so soft Stan almost couldn’t hear him.

Stan snuggled deeper under their quilt and into his chest. “I never regret telling you anything.”

“Good.” Richie sighed, the tension leaving with his breath. “Cause I may or may not wanna act on this the second we wake up.”

“Wreck me, babe.” Stan mumbled, laughing at Richie’s choke.

“Holding you to that, Uris.”

“As long as you hold me _down_ , Tozier.”

“Oh, sweet boy,” Stan could feel Richie’s grin against his head. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

Stan didn’t bother with another rebuttal, didn’t fight anymore, but let himself fall asleep instead.

\----------

The light of their window was blinding even with the crooked shades to filter it. Stan rolled away with a groan, burrowing deeper into the sheets and Rich -

Richie wasn’t in bed.

Stan bolted upright, and God, how late did he sleep? The last ebbings of a hangover barely caused an ache in his head. He hadn’t sleep that deep or long in weeks.

“Oh, you’re up.”

Stan turned to where Richie was propped against their bathroom door in nothing but loose sweats. He had a toothbrush dangling out of his mouth, a smudge on his glasses, and a twinkle in his eye. Stan’s heart fluttered almost offensively strong just from how his hip jutted out.

“Yeah, uh, what time is it?”

“A little past noon,” Richie laughed at Stan’s face. “Easy there, tiger. You’re not hungover? I can get coffee.”

Stan flopped back, “How could I still be hungover when I slept for eleven hours?”

Richie laughed, stepping back into the bathroom to rinse his mouth before strolling up to the bed. Stan stared at the wall, watching the dust float between the beams of sunlight that hit the Saint Motel, Blink-182, and Tame Impala posters Richie was so fond of.

Stan felt Richie’s hip bump the bed, and tucked his chin to ask if he’d want to grab lunch when the air stopped in his lungs.

Richie stood above him, shoulders relaxed, with the rope twirling in his grip.

“A drunk little birdy told me you’re into this.”

Stan gaped for a moment before getting his voice under control. “Yeah, I remember hearing something about that.“

“Can’t seem to ever get him to chirp sober though; we’ll work on that. In fact,” Richie said, slipping the rope to make a loop that looked awfully familiar. “I think I got an idea of how to keep him still until he tells me things now.”

“Fuck...”

“Yeah, baby? You gonna sing for me?”

Stan couldn’t find his words. His eyes were glued to how Richie let the rope twist between his fingers, his dark gaze, his easy smile. Stan swallowed and nodded.

“Green for go. Yellow for slow down. Red for stop.”

Stan nodded again.

“No, sweet boy, say it back to me.”

“Green for go. Yellow for slow down. Red for stop.”

“Good boy.”

“Are you ready?”

Richie leaned over him, God, he’s huge. Stan felt so small and if _that_ doesn’t get him going just assume he’s _dead._

“I-”

“Color?”

“If…” Stan’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I have a… question?”

Richie blinked. “Yeah?”

“Uh. Yellow? Do I yellow for that?”

“You can yellow whenever you need to, baby.”

“Okay, uh, yellow. Yeah. I’m sor-”

“Never be sorry for that. What’s wrong? We don’t have to-”

“Oh my God, shut up. I just - I got really spacey last time?”

“... When they tied you up?”

“Yeah, I just - I felt like I was floating. And I don’t know if that’s normal? So I just, I just wanted to warn you.”

“Did you like it?”

Stan blinked. “When I… did that?”

“Subspace, babe. It’s called subspace.”

Even Richie’s objective tone and soft assurance left his cheeks pinked - subspace? What? Like he was - a sub?

Stan felt his stomach tighten at that.

“Yeah, I guess.” He muttered. But Richie saw through his attempt at apathy and smiled something bright.

“God, you’re killing me babe.”

“If you die then this has been a lot of build up for nothing.” Stan murmured in his signature dry tone. But, the illusion was shattered as he smiled at Richie’s bark of laughter.

Richie stroked his thumb across Stan’s brow, letting them both just look at each other for a moment as the giggles made way for that hazy fog once more.

“You good?”

Stan nodded, he was doing a lot of that. “Yeah, green.” He bit his lip at Richie’s lazy smirk.

“Great.” Richie dipped to kiss his nose. “How ‘bout you choke on my dick, baby boy?”

“God, please.” Stan moaned, cracking out as Richie tugged him to sit upwards.

“Y’know,” Richie drawled against his neck. “You’re _awfully_ fidgety.” Stan knew that, could feel his fingers spasming against Richie’s shoulders, toes curling in his socks, back torn between straightening and curling.

He opened his mouth to assure Richie that he wanted it, it was okay - green green _green._

Richie beat him to it, “I could help you with that.” He bit down on Stan’s collar just tight enough to sting. “Keep you still for me.”

Stan felt the rope drag across his back, still in Richie’s grib, and whimpered.

“Hm? How ‘bout it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Richie groaned as he moved to kiss Stan, all teeth and heavy breathing while he pulled his shorts off. Stan sat on the bed, cheeks already pinking in nothing but Richie’s sleep shirt and waited patiently for Richie to make his next move.

“ _Fuck…_ prettiest boy I’ve ever fucking seen.” Richie crooned as he pulled Stan’s shirt over his head.

Stan felt himself lowered back down, back on his back, and froze. “I don’t wanna be on my - ”

“We’re doing everything _but_ missionary, sweet boy. Promise. Training wheels off.” Richie grinned down at him as he bent Stan’s legs like a frog. The position left Stan completely exposed, and he felt his knees start to shake as Richie readied the rope. “Just gotta get you all trussed up for me first.”

“What, like a turkey?” Stan quipped, but yelped at large palm slapping his inner thigh.

Richie rubbed at the sting and gave Stan a lazy look. “Trust me, baby, if I want your sass I’ll ask.” He gripped enough for Stan to wince. “ _Brats_ get punished.”

Suddenly being a brat was the highest thing on Stan’s to-do list if it lead to shit like that. Stan didn’t even know he’d wanted that in the first place but fuck if he didn’t want the sting again.

But… maybe another time. Right now, Stan wanted to be good.

“Yes, Sir.”

Richie kissed his knee as the first loop went around his bent knee. “Such a good boy.”

The rope looped once, twice, three times around his leg before Richie ran the loop between his pressed thigh and calf and tugged tight. Stan squeaked at the feeling and sudden lack of mobility. Shit, he was even more tied down than last time.

He left a fair bit of slack between each leg - but both were tied so his heels rested just beneath his ass. Richie scooped under his arms and hefted him to sit on his knees.

The taller boy shifted around to behind Stan to rub his forearms for a moment, letting him know what was coming next with the few feet of baby blue still dangling.

Stan moved his wrists back himself, shuddering an exhale at Richie’s tightening grip and kiss to his neck.

“Still good?” Richie mumbled as he locked Stan’s arms behind him.

“... Green.” Stan mumbled and let his head rest back against Richie.

Richie kissed his neck again, and Stan jolted at the sudden grip around his cock.

“Fu - ”

“All tied up with nowhere to go.” Richie sang into his ear, twisting his grip at the crown as Stan reflexively fought the ties.

Shit, he did squirm. And each attempt to move into or away from the slowly stroking fist just made the ropes dig into his already pinking skin.

Richie released him after a moment, dragging his nails between the taut cords as Stan keened.

“So much noise.” Richie tutted, but Stan could hear the smile in his tone. “Should put that mouth to better use.”

“So do it.” Stan gasped, legs futily trying to move into the scratches.

“You giving me orders, baby?” Richie asked with a bite.

“A-Are you gonna do anything about it?” Stan retorted, turning his head to look Richie in the eyes.

His open mouth and shivering form probably didn’t look very threatening but Richie grinned something sharp in response.

Richie didn’t respond, instead slipped back in front of Stan and stood on the mattress. It looked a little ridiculous, his head was inches from the ceiling, but Stan felt his mouth run dry as how he had to crane his neck to look up at him. Richie seemed impossibly tall - impossibly dominating.

He tugged his waistband down just enough to let his dick spring out. And Stan felt it bop his chin as Richie leaned his hips forward.

“Go on. Don’t get shy on me now, sweet boy.”

Stan kept his eyes locked up at him as he parted his lips. He had to stretch his jaw wider to fit Richie; the edges bumped against his mouth and he’d flushed as he tried to accommodate.

Richie watched with a mouth almost as wide open as Stan’s, huffing shallow breaths as Stan licked along the vein.

“That’s it, so good for me. Fuck, you’re hot.” Stan tried to shift forward but was held back by the bonds around him. He whined around Richie, who moaned in response.

“Just go slow, baby. Don’t choke yourself yet, you’re doing so well.” Richie didn’t even seem aware of what he was muttering but fuck if it didn’t work for Stan.

Stan started to bob, sure to cover his teeth and keeping his eyes on Richie’s face despite the strain his head felt at the angle. Stan sought validation, and Richie was never one to deny him.

“Wanna speed up for me? Just a bit, baby.” Stan tried to bob faster, but was still trying to figure out his air. “That’s okay, just suck for me, huh?”

Stan hollowed his cheeks as he pulled back.

“Fuck - yeah - that’s perfect.” Richie let one hand drop, cupping Stan’s jaw and slowly pressing his thumb against Stan’s cheek. Stan could feel the pressure push against his dick from the outside. Richie was feeling himself inside Stan.

Stan moaned around Richie and felt the thumb push harder.

“So perfect…” Richie mumbled, eyes soft with adoration.

Stan could be better. He leaned forward - trying to take more, to make him proud - but choked before he could get more than an inch.

“Shit, babe, don’t - ”

No, he could do it. He could _do it._

But the tears blurred his eyes with every press against the back of his throat. He got one more try in before Richie’s hand moved to his hair - yanking him back until just the head was in between his gasping lips around heaving breaths.

“Shhh, be good for me. That’s it, just breathe.” Richie cooed. his grip in Stan’s curl was iron strong, but his voice was feathery soft.

“P-Please, I can - ”

“Let me decide what you can do.” Richie interrupted. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes, Sir.” Stan nodded as much as he could with Richie’s cock still resting on his tongue.

“Good. Here.” Richie began to slide back into Stan’s wet heat, but when Stan tried to move forward into it he was held still.

Richie stopped just before reaching Stan’s throat, and slid back out so the tip rested barely inside before moving forward once more.

Stan moaned as his mouth was gently fucked.

“This what you wanted, baby?” Richie cooed, and Stan moaned in response. “That’s what I thought. Just a good boy that wants to be used, right?”

He sped up a bit, and Stan sucked and tongued at him with fervor.

“I’ll use you, baby. I’ll wreck you just like you want. Just gotta take it like the good boy you are.”

Stan let his eyes slip shut as Richie cradled his head, allowed himself to just be and be used. Both Richie’s hands were in his hair now, scratching and petting as his scalp as he praised him.

God, every time he swiped his tongue at a certain spot Richie’s hips jolted and shifted just a bit farther. But, Richie never choked him. Kept his grip on his boy firm and thrusts quick and shallow.

Richie slipped out of Stan’s mouth, which felt a bit rude since he knew he must’ve been close. His dick had been throbbing with his heartbeat inside of Stan - fingers tightening along with his breath. Stan tried to follow him but the rope and hands kept him so still only his tongue could reach for him.

“Such a good boy.” Richie breathed, chuckling a bit at Stan’s frustrated huff and questioning look.

“If I was good, why didn’t you cum?” He mumbled. His words came out a bit slurred from his numb, swollen lips.

“Can’t end the fun that soon, baby.” He knelt down so they were eye level and licked his own taste out of Stan’s mouth. “I like to make it build, hold off - ”

“Edging.” Stan supplied, kissing him slowly back.

“There ya go.” Richie laughed, “Maybe one day I’ll teach you all about it. Really make you thank me for letting you cum after you beg for it.”

Stan moaned into Richie’s mouth, and the let his head be tilted back as Richie tugged.

“Yeah? You want that?”

“Every - ah - t-thing,” Stan whimpered, Adam’s apple bobbing under Richie’s teeth. “I want everything.”

“Love when you talk, baby. Doing so good.” Richie kissed his jaw, and paused for a moment. Stan could practically hear the gears turning. “Everything, huh?”

“Green.” Stan whispered in response. It was easier than saying yes. Easier than stumbling over his words, trying to elaborate when he could just let Richie take the lead instead.

“Of course, Stanley.” His arms found Stan’s waist. “Let’s turn you over.”

Richie lifted Stan just enough to flip him onto his stomach, catching him around the chest to lower him the last few inches. With his arms back and his legs tucked Stan laid with his cheek and chest pressed flat. The tension between his wrists and thighs made his ass arch up to accommodate the lack of line between them. Richie slid each of his knees as wide as he could fit, which let his arms relax but left him… exposed.

He could feel his flush spreading down his chest and back as the air hit his hole. There was nothing Richie couldn’t see. Stan was helpless.

Richie’s fingers traced the edges of the rope along his calves and Stan jolted under the whispered drag of skin. Richie leaned in, and Stan could feel his breath ghost across the small of his back.

Oh fuck, oh _fuck_ -

“Color?”

Stan didn’t hesitate.

“Green.”

“Remember to breathe, baby.”

Stan screeched as he felt Richie’s tongue slide across his hole. He barely got a shaky lungful before the muscle was pressing, probing, sliding _in_ \- Christ, Stan could feel himself already starting to cry.

Richie’s palms held him open as he dug his nose into his tailbone and hummed. Stan released a wracking sob when Richie rubbed his thumb along his perineum and pointed his tongue to press in against Stan’s spasming muscles.

Stan could feel his hands yanking in his bonds - fingers flexing and clenching on nothing. Not to get away or closer but just to get _something_. He felt like he was shaking apart. The pressure was so hot and wet and God, he didn’t know if he could take it -

A warm hand slipped into his sweaty grip and fingers locked with his own quaking ones. Stan clung to Richie’s offering as he wept and chewed the sheet beneath him.

It was so much. Every time Stan felt he’d found some grounding Richie blew on his hole or flicked his tongue and Stan was lost all over again.

Richie pressed a thumb to his rim, dipping in just a bit alongside his tongue. Stan canted his hips against the mattress as he allowed his stomach to fall flat despite the ache it left in him. He liked the ache. He wanted more.

He could feel the tightening in his core. Could feel himself getting closer and closer and ground his hips in sharp, dirty drags against the mattress.

Richie pushed his thumb in as his tongue pulled out and kissed Stan’s sweaty spine. He spoke softly but clearly.

“You can cum if you want, baby.”

Stan ground down harder.

“But, if you do… you’re still cumming on my cock.”

Stan’s frantic rhythm faltered. _What?_ There was no way he could -

“I’d get it out of you. You’d cry so pretty while I did it. Taking it like a good boy.”

Stan’s hips stopped, he could feel himself on the edge. But, cumming _twice?_

“No?” Richie mumbled, thumb twisting lightly inside him, making Stan keen. “Don’t wanna?”

The question wasn’t a threat, he was practically asking for a color. Stan bit his lip, gripped Richie’s hand, and began to thrust again.

“Oh, God, look at you.” Richie moaned, “Fucking the bed like such a needy boy. I’m gonna make you _weep,_ baby.”

And with that, Richie pressed his thumb all the way in, curling it as he bit his ass.

Stan came with a muffled shriek.

The thumb inside him didn’t leave, but stilled as Stan gasped - shaking through the aftershocks of cumming completely untouched.

Once Stan could breathe at something resembling a functional rate he felt Richie shift just enough to grab lube. The thumb slipped out to reach for the bottle in the drawer, and Stan squeaked at the loss but appreciated the choice over letting go of his hand.

Richie’s squeezed his grip, like he could read his thoughts -

“Nah, babe, you’re just talking again.”

“Oh… Okay.” Stan mumbled, voice muted from the cotton damp between his teeth.

Richie resituated himself, giving Stan a quick kiss to his shoulder blade before two fingers sank into him.

Stan jolted, oh fuck -

“I promised to wreck you babe. Make you cry for me.” The fingers spread and Stan clung to his hand tighter.

“Ri-Rich - ”

“Is it ‘Richie’ again?” He asked softly, but with relentless stretching to Stan’s still pulsing hole - he hadn’t fully recovered from his first orgasm. God, his _first;_ he had to cum again.

“N-No, Sir.”

A third finger slipped in. Stan could feel his toes curling in his socks. They matched the blue of the rope he thought hysterically; Richie always stayed with aesthetic.

His laughter made Richie slow down just enough to get a cry out of Stan.

“Color?”

“C’mon, just - ”

The fingers stilled completely, starting to slide away as Stan squirmed.

“Stanley. I asked you a question.”

“G-green. Christ, green, just - hurry up. You said you’d wreck me so _do it_.”

Richie didn’t respond to that. He pulled his fingers out and slid in with one long push. Stan whimpered at the stretch. The prep had been the same but he’d rushed it along himself, wanted that ache that came with quick work.

He breathed deeply, waiting for the first real thrust.

And waited.

But, Richie didn’t move.

He was sitting back on his heels hip deep in Stan and when Stan turned his cheek into the sheets to look he looked - bored.

“Did you need something?” Richie asked.

“I -” Stan sputtered. “Move!”

“No…” Richie hummed like he was thinking it over. “No, I don’t think so. You wanted me to wreck you, right?” His thumb brushed across the back of Stan’s gripped hand. But, beyond that Richie was as still as photograph.

“See, I think this is wrecking you quite a bit. All tied up and have to be good and take it for me?” Richie grinned sharply. “But you don’t wanna be good, huh? Brats don’t get to feel good, baby. Brats have to _beg_.”

Stan felt his face prickle with humiliation. Beg? Fuck that. He wasn’t gonna -

“You’re still cumming again for me.” Richie interrupted his building indignation. “It’s all up to you how long that’s gonna take. I will wreck you - break you apart if that’s what you want,” He leaned leaned up close, not moving his dick inside Stan. “But you’re gonna have to be really sweet for it now.”

Stan turned his face back into the sheets, nose mashed against the blankets as he twitched. He could wait it out. Richie wasn’t patient on his best days; Stan had the upper hand here.

But, as the minutes ticked on, Stan felt himself start to sweat. Every breath made him flex in the rope which just reminded him that he was tied up and speared on Richie’s dick and Richie wasn’t _fucking moving._

The sheet was tugged from beneath him, pulling the fabric taut across the mattress and out of his mouth. He hadn’t even realized he’d been biting it, trying to distract himself from the steady clench around Richie with each pounding of his heart.

“No, no distractions.” Richie spoke. “You can’t wait me out, baby. So why don’t you be a good boy and beg me for it?”

“No! Just - dammit!” Stan didn’t know _why_ he was arguing this much. Always ready to adapt to what Richie offered, ready to be good. But, shit, something about not being good - being a _brat_ \- just made his stomach coil.

All of the warring sensations and stimulants kept his brain at the forefront - unable to float as he’d done before. He was too aware of the sweat under his arms and the tears in his eyes and the embarrassing picture he must paint.

A small part of Stan knew what Richie was doing. But he didn’t think Richie would really _deny_ him like this. Not allow for this to continue until Stan reached that part of himself again - until he allowed himself to just be good again.

Stan leaned himself forward as much as he could to shove himself back in one last show of defiance.

The hand that had held Stan’s own gripped abruptly on his tilt forward, throwing Stan off kilter and unable to accommodate before the rope slack between his wrists and legs was pulled up, up, up.

Stan was balanced on the tips of his knees and forehead. The rest of him dangled in Richie’s grip, unable to get leverage to move an inch.

The position was humiliating, swaying like a marionette, and Stan could feel his eyes well and cheeks flush at the helplessness.

“W-why are you b-being so _mean_?” He he gasped in frustration, ropes digging in as he tried to wiggle.

“You know why. If you want me to stop, you know what to say.” Was all Richie said in response. He squeezed Stan’s hand once more, thumb stroking along his sweaty skin.

Stan opened his mouth, ready to yell, but stopped.

“C’mon, baby.” Richie whispered.

And Stan let himself sag into the binds. Let himself be held and secured. All at once the tension in his body and mind slipped away. His fingers went soft in Richie’s solid grip.

“... Please.”

“Yeah?”

“I want to be good.”

“You are...” Richie cooed. “Such,” Stan felt him finally, _finally_ move, “A good boy.”

Richie’s admission left Stan sobbing as much as his thrust.

Stan was lowered back down, face digging into the sheets as he was jolted back and forth on the force of Richie’s movements.

He wasn’t fucking him fast, but _deep;_ it was slow, consistent drags that rubbed Stan’s dick into the sheets below him.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Richie whispered like a prayer into Stan’s curls. “You take it so well for me, open up for me, I don’t deserve you. Christ, how are you even real?”

The words were different from the dirty talk from before, Stan didn’t know if Richie was even aware he was speaking.

“You’re so perfect, Stan my Man. So fucking perfect.”

Stan didn’t fight him on it, but let the praise sink into his skin and held Richie’s hand tighter. Let the warmth and words hold him as he floated. The only noise coming from him were soft whimpers with each bump to his prostate.

Eventually, the pressure was too much. Despite his doubt, Stan could feel himself closing in on his limit. Richie must’ve felt it too by his groans at Stan’s clenching.

He could feel his muscles coil as his core tightened, could feel Richie begin to speed up to the pace that always tipped him over the edge. The tempo and pressure made Stan’s cries louder and louder.

“C’mon, baby.” Richie whispered again. “Make a mess for me.”

Stan came biting the blanket on a scream. He didn’t need to thrust as he’d done before. The rolling of his body set at Richie’s pace was enough. Stan didn’t try to speed up, but rode his orgasm out like a good boy. _Richie’s_ good boy.

Stan could feel Richie begin to slip out of him, away from him. Stan shouted into the blankets, shaking his head and gripping Richie’s hand like a vice.

Richie stilled. “Color, baby.”

Stan’s response was hindered by the cotton wad still between his teeth. Richie chuckled, temporarily breaking the tension, as he turned Stan to rest on his cheek again.

“Wanna run that by me one more time?”

“Green, greeng _reengreen,”_ Stan gasped despite his ebbing sobs and twitches. “You’re not done, c’m-mon -  ”

“Stan, you already - ”

“If you don’t cum in me I’m gonna throttle you, Tozier.”

Richie was speechless.

“Use me, wreck me - you p-promised. I wanna be good for you,” Stan turned as much as his head would allow. “ _Please_ cum in me, Sir.”

Richie holds him for a moment, as gentle as anything, and kisses his sweat-matted curls. Stan, for a moment, is worried that Richie’s not going to follow through - can’t keep a mean act up when his heart swells so much for Stan.

His hand squeezed Stan’s one last time before slipping away to wrap his arm across his lithe shoulders, cradling Stan against him.

Richie thrust long and hard in one big shove and Stan cracked around a sob as his spent dick ground into the sheets.

“Are you sure?” Richie asked one last time at Stan’s cry.

“I l-like it -” Stan gasped, hiccuping on choked cries.

Richie bit back a moan, like he knew what Stan was confessing but wanted to hear him choke it out. “What, baby? What do you like?”

“When you make me take it - ah! - when it _h-hurts_!”

Richie melded against Stan’s back, holding him close as he brutally fucked into the boy.

“Look at you telling me what you want. Such a sweet boy for me. Little birdy is finally singing.” A sharp snap of hips stopped any retort Stan would’ve had to the _birdy_ comment.

Instead he cried and let himself be pulled back by Richie’s hands. Let himself be filled again and again and _again_.

“God you take it so pretty for me.” His words were rushed, slurring into themselves as he rocked them both. “Fuck baby, shaking and taking it like a good boy. Are you my good boy?”

“Y-y-yes S- _ah_ -ir!”

“So pretty when you cry. God, you’d let me fuck your hole for hours, wouldn’t you?”

“ _Yes,_ fuckfuckfuck.”

“Just lay you out until you’re a sobbing, dripping _mess_ , baby.”

“Please _please,_ Rich - Sir, please!”

“Maybe I’d plug you up after; keep you in our bed and ready for me. Fuck baby, do you want that?”

The cracked moan was all Stan could muster in response.

Richie slid his arms beneath Stan’s chest, lifting him up and back against him which left his cock mercifully free of friction but allowed Richie to slide impossibly deeper.

He was balanced on his bent kneecaps, the mattress was soft enough to avoid serious discomfort even with the pinpointed pressure, but Stan couldn't be bothered by the dull ache in his knees when he was overwhelmed by the pounding pressure inside him.

“Please, please, I need - ” But his mouth couldn’t keep up, pliant and soft under Richie, unable to get his tongue to form his begs.

Richie’s rhythm was becoming more sporadic as he became closer to his own peak. Clinging to Stan as he panted in his ear. “What do you need baby? Be a good boy.”

Stan choked on his own spit as he tried to speak around his sobs. “F-f-fingers!” He begged.

Richie didn’t slow as one of his hands trailed down Stan’s stomach. Stan shook his head and Richie’s hand paused while his hips did not.

“What do you mean, baby? Where do you want them?” He kissed behind Stan’s ear, a gentle touch amid all the overpowering shockwaves.

Stan “I-I-“ Couldn’t get the words out. He sobbed in frustration and finally -

Opened his mouth, tongue poking out, cheeks darkening at how lewd he must look.

Richie moaned against him in understanding and slipped his fingers deep into Stan’s mouth. The smaller boy latched on immediately, crying around the digits.

“Such a good boy for me.”

Stan nodded as his head was turned, fingers hooked in his mouth tugging until he was nose to nose with Richie. Richie looked at him for a moment and furrowed his brow as he groaned deep in his chest.

“God, you’re beautiful.” He sighed, and kissed the corner of Stan’s mouth against his fingers. Stan parted his own to reciprocate, but his tongue was trapped under the press of Richie’s digits.

Stan whined at the hindrance, but bit lightly into his fingers when Richie tried to slip them away. He felt Richie’s tongue slip between his lips as he kissed his open mouth. Stan was unable to respond, content to let his mouth be used.

Richie whispered into his mouth as his hips jumped against Stan, unable to maintain finesse this close after holding off for so long. The praise was unending, and so sweet Stan’s toes curled just from the unadulterated sincerity of it.

“God you’re so pretty, so perfect - Christ, I don’t deserve you.” The words a slurred worship _Stan_ didn’t deserve. But he cried and whimpered in response regardless.

“God, fuck, I - _fuck_ \- I love you…” Richie shoved twice more, hips grinding in place as he came. “I love you so _fucking_ much, oh God, Stan - _Stan!”_

Stan’s hands dug into Richie’s stomach where they were trapped, desperate to hold and comfort as Richie had done for him.

They both panted, Richie’s fingers slipping out of Stan’s mouth to hold his cheek instead. Stan was lowered back flat on the bed, Richie letting his weight press down onto him - ground him.

Stan winced when Richie slipped out, his hole was fluttering with how abused it felt and he couldn’t get his limbs to stop shaking. But, Richie didn’t rush him; content to pet his face and kiss his nose and allow Stan to calm down at his own pace..

Once he’d settled enough for Richie to be satisfied Stan felt his weight leave him as Richie sat up. The ropes around his wrists began to slacken, freeing Stan from his hold even if his mind still felt fogged and distant.

There weren’t any pins or needles; Richie had been careful of circulation, but the sudden allowance of movement made Stan whine. Richie shushed him softly, moving his hands to rest on either side of his face as he started on his legs.

“Did so well, God. How’re you real?” He mumbled as Stan’s left leg was rubbed and stretched slowly back out.

Stan grunted a laugh. Really? Richie was asking that? Stan was still convinced he might be caught in a drunken dream and Richie thinks _he’s_ the lucky one?

Richie laughed back as he started the next leg. “I’m serious, babe, you’re insane.” He kissed along the indentations across Stan’s shin. “It’s amazing.”

Stan let himself be turned, held, and lifted up off the bed. He felt warm, why fight that? Richie walked them both into the bathroom, not willing to put Stan down for a moment as he struggled with the shower curtain one-handed. Stan laughed at his flailing and kissed his cheek as Richie turned on the shower head. He hummed in Stan’s ear at they waited for the water to heat up.

The shower itself was a tight fit, barely three feet wide, and the chipped tiles always had a chill to them no matter how hot Stan ever ran the water. But Richie lowered himself to the floor, back leaning on the wall, and cradled Stan against him like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

“Gonna need more than a wipedown this time, Stan my Man.” He joked as the soapy cloth ran across his arms. He could feel Richie’s strokes dip into the skin that still held impressions from the tight binds. Some spots might leave bruises from how he’d tugged in their hold. God, Eddie would see one for sure, he had laser vision on finding dirt on Stan ever since he’d called out his hickey. They’d all know what they did, really know for sure - the proof was branded across his skin.

That… wouldn’t be so bad.

Stan curled tighter into Richie as he rubbed between his legs. His whimpers were involuntary but Richie held him closer as he cleaned the sensitive skin. They hadn’t used a condom - it wasn’t an issue or the first time, but Stan felt his face heat as Richie’s fingers dipped in just a hair to clean him out.

“Being so good for me,” Richie promised. “Doing so well. Wanna wash your hair?”

Stan nodded, but made no move to grab the bottle. Richie waited another moment to be sure and reached for it himself.

He had Stan cup over his eyes as he did scrubbed, which made Stan feel a little like a toddler but the waters spray was unavoidable from the floor. He let the bubbles sluice off of him as Richie briskly washed his own. They stayed in long enough for Stan to consider just sleeping right there until Richie carefully picked him up again.

Stan smiled a bit as he was placed on the counter edge for Richie to dry him off. Leaning into his chest as he’d done countless times before. Except, this time he felt… lighter. Just the soft drag of the towel and the drone of Richie’s rambling.

He ended up in the sleepy bed - Richie was never going to let that go - and let his head rest on Richie’s chest. Stan let the lull of his heartbeat to push him to sleep. Before he could quite drift off Richie put a hand on his cheek, turning his head to look up at him.

“I meant it, y’know.” Richie mumbled with pink cheeks and soft eyes. “What I said, I meant it. I didn’t mean to say it then, cause, _fuck_ \- what a cliche. But I do.”

He swallowed, and smiled something delicate.

“I love you, Stan my Man.”

Stan stared at him, feeling the wobbly smile pulling at his cheeks. He turned his face into Richie’s hand and kissed his palm.

“Duh.”

Richie blinked. Stan grinned wider as Richie laughed and pulled him up for a kiss.

“I love you too.” He whispered.

Richie grinned against him, their smiles too wide even be a proper kiss anymore.

“Duh.”

**Author's Note:**

> stan's ass and heart are full of richie.
> 
> aaaand we got a part 3 because i am a monster. 
> 
> please leave a comment, let me know if it sucks.
> 
> tumblr: birdboyinthedeadlights


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